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®{)e JBag's; ®orft Series 


GRAVEN ON THE 
TABLES 


BY ^ 

WILLIAM EWING LOVE 



/ V r VI' o', ./ 


0 .Lii 


BOSTON 

L. C. PAGE & COMPANY 

MBCCCC 





'b 


31010 


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Gc. 


6S22S 

Copyright, igoo 
By L. C. Page & Company 

(incorporated) 


brary of Congre8*[ 

Two Copies Received 

AUG 6 1900 

Copyright entry ^ 

i,/p£>C 

SECOND COPY. 

Delivered to 

ORDER DIVISION, 

AUG 20 1900 


Ait rights reserved 





I 


Colonial Press 

Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. 
Boston. U. S. A. 


PREFACE. 


While convalescing from a severe illness in April, 
1899, the author, in quest of occupation for hand and 
mind during his enforced indoor stay, was impressed by 
a foot-note to Bacon’s Essay on Riches : '‘He that 
maketh haste to be rich, shall not be innocent.” This 
is a quotation from Proverbs xxviii. 20. The story 
printed on the following pages was at once begun and 
was finished during the week following. In the ensuing 
July the manuscript was sent to The Coming Age^ at 
Boston, and was promptly accepted by Editor B. O 
Flower, to be paid for on publication. Several months 
having elapsed and the story not yet having appeared in 
print, the author grew impatient and requested the re- 
turn of the manuscript. He then at once proceeded to 
publish it personally, doing all the work himself, me- 
chanical and otherwise. Its success as a privately 
printed booklet encouraged the author to submit the 
story to the Boston publishing house whose imprint it 
now bears. 

“ Graven on the Tables ” is dedicated to men like 
N. O. Nelson, of St. Louis, and Mayor Jones, of Toledo. 
It is offered for the perusal of no class or organizations, 
but for the great mass of toilers who bear the burdens 
and sustain the earth. 

William Ewing Love. 

St. LouiSf May, igoo. 


« 


I 

a 




I 



GRAVEN ON THE TABLES. 


John Hardicorn strode heavily into the sparely 
furnished kitchen his family called home, and im- 
patiently flung his luncheon can upon the clothless 
table. After a moment of dogged silence, he said to 
his thin-faced wife, who sat monotonously rocking a 
sick infant : 

‘‘Well, Mary, I’m laid off again, for two weeks this 
time. It’s that, or look for another place, — so the 
foundry foreman told us to-day.” 

“It can’t be helped, John,” the wife resignedly re- 
plied. “ We can only do for the best, — that’s all, — 
and not worry too much.” 

“And what’s worse,” added the iron-worker, appar- 
ently unheeding his wife’s answer, “ our pay is to be 
cut down fifteen cents on the dollar the first of Decem- 
ber, — two weeks from now. We got notice to-day. 
All the men are out of heart and in ugly temper. 
We’ve stood lay-offs — eighty men at a time — every 
five weeks for the past six months. And we haven’t 
growled. This lay-off will be seven weeks lost time for 
me since May. And still I don’t grumble at that. 
But to go back to work at thirty cents the day less, — 
that’s too much. With a wife and four children to 
5 


6 


GRAVEN ON THE TABLES. 


feed, and already in debt at the company store — I 
can’t stand it — and, what’s more, I won’t ! No more 
will the others ! ” 

“Don’t do anything rash, John,” soothingly cau- 
tioned the patient wife. “ Remember winter is coming, 
and we’re not prepared. The baby’s sick ; the others 
need shoes and clothes ; and, as you say, we owe for 
things at the store. Besides, I’m not well. Be careful, 
John, and make the best of what you might make 
worse.” 

“ That’s what we’ve been doing for months,” testily 
broke in Hardicorn. “We’ve been making much of 
mighty little. And we’ve been patient, too. But 
patience has worn out — 

“ But how’s the baby, Mary } ” anxiously queried the 
father, abruptly turning from his complaining mood. 
“ Did the doctor come } ” 

“Yes, John, but — I might as well tell you — he 
said: ‘You should have called me sooner, Mrs. Hardi- 
com. You have a very sick child.’ That was all he 
said ; but his tone meant more. I don’t believe our 
baby’ll get well, John. The doctor wrote a prescrip- 
tion. There it is — I had no money to send to the 
drug-store till you brought your wages home.” 

Hardicorn bent above his baby, gazed yearningly 
into the wan, pinched face, solicitously noting the 
shortly heaving breast, and sighed deeply. 

“ For its sake, for sake of the others, for your sake, 
Mary,” he said in a broken voice, “I’ll try to be patient.” 

Though of rough exterior, and earning a livelihood as 


GRAVEN ON THE TABLES. 


7 


an iron-molder, John Hardicorn was a man of tender 
sensibilities and some education. In the first years of 
his manhood he had been a licensed Baptist preacher ; 
and, in a humble way, he had followed that calling till 
sheer necessity forced him to seek more remunerative 
employment. By reason of early training and associa- 
tions, he, more than any other, perhaps, of the four 
hundred men employed in the Hadleyton Iron and 
Steel Works, felt the sting of Marcus Hadley’s late 
ungenerous treatment of his workmen. 

At the end of two weeks John Hardicorn went back 
to work, but with little lightness of heart ; for his baby 
had been put away in a humble corner of the town 
cemetery, and his burden of debt had been added to 
by burial expenses and a doctor’s bill. Moreover, the 
mother, who had not been strong since the baby’s birth, 
showed evidence of rapid break-down. She had been a 
brave little woman, a faithful wife, and a self-denying 
mother. For a year and a half past she had borne up 
against aches and pains and fits of weakness, and cared 
for her husband, her children, and her home as can only 
the poor, whose hearts are drawn closely together by 
deprivation and narrow living. But now that the baby 
was dead, and the maternal strain had somewhat relaxed, 
John could plainly see she daily grew frailer. 

When the reduction in wages at the Iron-works went 
into effect the lay-off plan was discontinued. The entire 
plant resumed operation, with a full complement of men, 
an even four hundred (not counting Harmon Hill, the 


8 


GRAVEN ON THE TABLES. 


general foreman). Two or three large orders had come 
in, and others were expected ; so there was prospect for 
running steadily. 

But, notwithstanding the promise for larger aggregate 
earnings (even at the cut-down) than enjoyed since 
spring, there was general discontent among the men. 
During the just past seven months they had acquiesced 
in the lay-off plan in a spirit of cooperation with their 
employer and with each other. ** During business stag- 
nation,” they said among themselves, there is little 
demand for such iron products as we make ; and when 
the demand is small it naturally follows there is scarcity 
of work. But this cutting down of wages and running 
full time is quite another matter.” To them it savoured 
more of increased profits to the mill-owner than of a 
generous wish to give all hands work at a living wage. 
The more intelligent figured out that it was more profit- 
able to operate an entire plant (at even smaller net 
returns than usual) than to allow part of the machinery 
to lie idle, eaten by rust and rot, and tying up, at no 
interest income, money invested. And they felt confi- 
dent Marcus Hadley had recently been doing the same 
sort of figuring, and that resumption by the whole plant 
had resulted solely from these calculations. In a word, 
the men felt sure they were being made victims to the 
greed of avarice. It looked like fair dealing when they 
were paid standard wages, though not allowed to work 
full time ; but quite a different phase was put upon the 
situation, when all their time was required at a fifteen 
per cent, reduction. 


GRAVEN ON THE TABLES. 


9 


The discontent and discussion and agitation grew 
apace, and, in less than three weeks, brought about a 
call for a mass-meeting, to settle upon a plan of action. 
At this meeting the men were not long in unanimously 
deciding to demand a return to the old wage scale. 
They were divided, however, on the proposition to 
strike, should their demand not be acceded. The con- 
tention was spirited and obstinate. Among those who 
pleaded for moderation was John Hardicorn. In the 
course of his speech he said : 

Men, the day this cut in wages was announced my 
wife said to me: ‘John, be careful, and make the best 
of what you might make worse.’ That set me a-think- 
ing ; and, even if the advice did come from a woman, I 
believe it’s good. Our wives at home often see things 
at a standpoint differing from ours ; but, when it comes 
to the bread-winning question, I believe they’re pretty 
clear-sighted. (“ You’re right there, John Hardicorn,” 
spoke up a big charcoal heaver.) Now, men, it’s true 
that many of us here to-day have worked around this 
plant for years, some of us fifteen, and a few as long as 
twenty. I went to work for Mark Hadley — right here, 
under this casting-shed — twenty-one years ago last 
April. Then the whole works weren’t much bigger 
than the horseshoeing shop is to-day. All of us have 
seen Mark Hadley get rich, and richer ; while we, well, we 
have had enough, and tried to be contented. (“ Because 
we had to,” growled a hoarse-voiced puddler.) We can’t 
all be rich, you know, men ; there’d be nobody left to 
do the work. (“ That’s the milk in the cocoanut, John 


10 


GRAVEN ON THE TABLES. 


Hardicorn,” chimed in a muscular off-bearer.) We’ve 
heard Mark Hadley brag that he had the most skilful 
and most faithful workmen in the States. He’s poked 
some of us in the ribs and said these things in the 
presence of visitors to the Iron-works. Who might 
become buyers,” interrupted a molder.) And he’s put 
us in a jolly humour with him, ourselves, and everybody. 
(‘^Because it paid,” sneered a mill foreman.) He has 
made us feel like we were part of the firm and all of 
the works. Sly old fox ! ” commented a thin black- 
smith.) He has built us houses and allowed us moder- 
ate rent. (‘‘And still made a neat profit,” broke in a 
lank carpenter.) He has given us credit at the company 
store. (“ To our sorrow ! ” ejaculated a poor sand- 
wheeler.) He has presented us turkeys at Christmas — 
when times were good. (“ You bet — when times were 
good ! ” came the echo.) But, somehow, he has got 
richer all the time. He has built a church, and is a 
Methodist deacon. (“ Hypocrite ! Hypocrite ! ” shouted 
several voices, in chorus.) He has been a leader in 
many movements for this town’s advancement. (“ And 
his own ! ” snapped a turner.) He’s a man of conse- 
quence in this community ; and he’ll have the sympathy 
of the people of Hadleyton ; and that’ll strengthen him, 
stiffen his back, in a fight with us. (“ We’ll break his 
back — or his head!” yelled a rabid strike advocate.) 
We’ve never before felt cause for a serious quarrel with 
Mark Hadley (“ He had yer hypnertised I ” called out a 
small boy in the crowd) ; but we all know he’s a man of 
determination, even obstinate (“ As a pig I ” agreed 


G/iA VEN ON- THE TABLES. 1 1 

a big machinist) when he thinks he’s right. ('‘And 
that’s all the time ! ” somebody added.) Mark Hadley 
thinks he has good reasons for this cut in wages ; and if 
we start a fight with him, we’ll get whipped — for he’ll 
never give in. Then let us go slowly. Let us have a 
care for those dependent on us, who may have to suffer. 
(" That’s what we’re here for ! ” shouted a prospective 
strike leader.) If we must make a demand for the 
old wages, let us not make threats. Let us leave a 
bridge open for retreat, should we find — ” 

" Coward ! ” hissed a hot-headed strike factionist. 

" Who’s a coward } ” yelled a friend to Hardicorn. 

"You! You weak-kneed, milk-and-water, mamma’ s- 
apron-string boy ! ” came the defiant response. 

"I’ll teach you different, you blackguard ! ” was 
howled back. 

And the two burly iron-workers, white with rage, 
struggled through the dense crowd to get at each other. 

Great confusion ensued ; and, amid a tumult of 
shouts and hisses and cat-calls, John Hardicorn left 
the box on which he had stood while speaking. 

For some minutes a general fight was threatened; 
but quiet was finally restored, and the meeting pro- 
ceeded. Other speakers joined Hardicorn in pleading 
for moderation ; but they were overborne by the op- 
position. And it was decided to strike, as a last resort. 

Marcus Hadley, sole proprietor of the Hadleyton 
Iron and Steel Works, founder and patriarch of the 
town of Hadleyton, deacon and main pillar in the local 


12 


GRAVEN ON THE TABLES. 


Methodist church, president of the town’s one bank- 
ing-house, and landlord of half the country round, sat in 
his private office Monday morning, December i8th, in 
consultation with his general foreman, Harmon Hill. 
They had been discussing the iron-workers’ demands 
and strike ultimatum. 

And so they will walk out if we don’t restore the 
old wage scale } ” queried the iron-master. 

‘‘So I regret to say,” answered the foreman. “I 
was so informed by a committee yesterday.” 

“ Well,” calmly announced the square-jawed foundry- 
man, after a moment’s cogitation, “we must consider 
this alternative : Shut down, or be shut down. We 
cannot now afford to pay the old wages. During 
the past eight months our profits have been small 
enough. With a full complement of men at work 
and the former scale in force, we could not hope to 
more than meet running expenses.” 

“ I think we might hope to do better, sir,” the fore- 
man suggested. 

“ I say not ! ” emphatically reiterated Hadley. “ I 
have figured it out to a cent — and to my entire satis- 
faction.” 

“ Well, admit we only meet expenses,” pleaded Hill. 
“Will it not be better to let the men earn bread for 
their families — besides saving the machinery from 
rust and rot, for nobody’s benefit?” 

“ If the men want bread for their families, they now 
have fair means to earn it,” coldly responded the iron 
magnate. 


GRAVEN ON THE TABLES. 


13 


“Furthermore,” added the foreman, “if we shut 
down, our best men will seek employment elsewhere. 
We can’t afford to lose them.” 

“ We’ll not lose ’em,” chuckled the patriarch of 
Hadleyton. “They’re so much at home here they’ll 
hesitate a long time before going away. And they’ll 
come to their senses on sober thought. We’ll help 
them a little in that direction. Many of them are in our 
debt at the store. These we’ll choke off at once. The 
rest must pay as they buy. No more credit orders. 
Hill. Then, when the larder gets empty, they’ll talk 
reason. Now, as I said before. Hill, it looks like a 
case of shut down, or de shut down. So we’ll not 
be caught napping. We’ll take the bull by the horns 
without dilly-dally. You must post notices to-morrow ; 
that the whole plant will be closed indefinitely at two 
o’clock next Sunday night — or, rather, Monday morn- 
ing. Make the notice strong against trespassers, for 
some of the more turbulent and vindictive may attempt 
arson or other violence. Pay all the men off at 10 
o’clock Monday forenoon, as usual — By the way, 
Monday is Christmas ! Well, let it be. This will be a 
rather sad Christmas gift to the men. Eh, Hill ? How- 
ever, they’ve brought it on themselves. It’ll teach a 
valuable lesson, which some of them sorely need.” 

And so the edict to close down went forth. 

“ But he that maketh haste to be rich shall not be inno- 
cent.” * — Proverbs xxviii. 20. 


* Also translated unpunished. 


H 


GRAVEN- ON THE TABLES. 


Thus impressively read the pastor of the Hadleyton 
Methodist church at the usual Sabbath morning ser- 
vices the day before Christmas. 

<‘By these words,” commented the preacher, ‘‘King 
Solomon condemned, in no uncertain terms, avarice in 
the wealthy. Between the lines we read solemn pro- 
nouncement of a penalty against the rich man who 
grinds the poor. 

“ This is a period of the piling up of great fortunes, 
an era of combinations and trusts, and of gains far in 
excess of the reasonable earning power of capital. Is 
it any wonder, then, that these heapings of wealth have 
their corresponding depressions of want and squalor ? 
The many are deprived, enslaved, debased, to con- 
tribute to the lifting on high, the luxury, ay, the 
prodigality y of the few. And King Solomon saith : 

“ ‘ The destruction of the poor is their poverty.’ 

“ Do we, in this nineteenth century of Croesus build- 
ing, ever stop to ponder on how much of crime among 
the poor is traceable to the insatiate avarice of the 
rich } Jean Valjean became a burglar, a galleys con- 
vict, a hounded outlaw, through necessity of bread for 
dependent little ones. Yet, this man was not a degen- 
erate. His very act of breaking a shop window and 
taking therefrom a loaf to feed the starving innocents 
stamps him as of noblest sentiment and impulse. The 
press of to-day teems with items of theft, burglary, 
highway robbery, and, alas ! murder — committed, in 
many instances, by unfortunates who had never before 


GRAVEN ON THE TABLES. 


15 


broken a statute law. Who can gainsay scores of these 
crimes are primarily instigated by want and a sense of 
oppression Self-preservation is the first law of nature. 
If a man cannot live by fair means, he feels he must 
resort to foul. This is dangerous doctrine, but it is 
not immoral teaching, because it is truth; and truth 
is never immoral. Many of the unsuccessful in the 
lowlier walks of life in time come to be imbued, in a 
sinister way, with the idea, that the world owes them a 
living. And are they far wrong } When such men are 
denied the privilege, the God-given right, to honestly 
earn bread, the step to crime is short. And are they 
more to be condemned than those others in the upper 
atmosphere who live Gn the sweat of another man’s 
brow ? ’ Is the man who annually piles away in strong 
vaults surplus gains, by tens and hundreds of thou- 
sands, more every year than he and his can hope to 
temperately consume in their generation, — is he less to 
be condemned than the skulking wretch who, impelled 
by want, hides his face behind a mask, creeps into a 
shop at the dead hours of night, and takes from the 
money drawer a few dollars > The one hath taken his 
tens, the other his tens of thousands. Are the colossal 
returns on money, machinery, and personal energy of 
the great manufacturer and emporium merchant, em- 
ploying hundreds at meagre wages, not more than fair 
interest on capital and liberal salary for individual ser- 
vices } The common people too well know the answer. 

“And is this America, ‘the home of the brave and 
the land of the free,’ where industrial serfdom should 


1 6 GRAVEN ON THE TABLES. 

for ever fear to plant its cloven hoof ? Is this the land 
our forefathers wrested from the avarice of a foreign 
tyrant ? Is this the soil baptised and consecrated to 
freedom and equality and brotherhood in the blood of 
the slain at Lexington and Concord and Bunker Hill 
and in the crimson stains on the snows at Valley 
Forge? O my brethen, are we worthy descendants 
of those horny-handed yeomen who rose up and shook 
off the degrading yoke of a maternal government which 
oppressed its poor ? 

“ ‘ But he that maketh haste to be rich shall not be innocent.’ 

“Would it were possible to blazon these words in 
letters of flame over the portal to every mill, every 
foundry, every factory, and above the gateway to every 
mart of manufacture and trade throughout our fair 
land ! Would it were expedient for these words of 
wisdom to meet the eye of the maker and the merchant 
wherever he turn till their eternal import should burn 
deep into his soul ! Behold, O men of wealth and 
affairs, the handwriting on the wall ! Behold and heed ! 
Lest your kingdom of riches be taken from you and 
divided, as was Belshazzar’s among the Medes and the 
Persians. 

“The luxury and the license and the riotous living 
of the aristocracy of France reached its climax just 
before those days of reckoning when the pavements 
of Paris were spattered with human blood ; just before 
that reign of terror when the Frenchman who dis- 
claimed the appellation of Citizen placed his head in the 


GRAVEN ON THE TABLES. 1 / 

shadow of the guillotine. But from those nights of 
gloom too long unhappy France emerged to the rosy 
dawn of industrial freedom. 

*‘The French Revolution was a revolt of the impover- 
ished masses against the aristocratic classes born from 
and perpetuated by dishonest wealth. It was the rend- 
ing in rage of a king and a government selfishly devoted 
to a caste founded in riches. It was a merciless, pitiless, 
godless rebuke of a religion catering to passions and 
lusts and profligacies of a rank having its root in 
mammon. That caste, so disastrous to France a hun- 
dred years ago, permeates society, government, and 
religion in this country to-day. Its face may appear 
different, but its heart is the same. 

Just before those terrible days in France Mirabeau 
sounded this note of warning : < Beware ! There is 
contagion in passionate movements ! ’ Translated into 
the language of our times and conditions, these words 
signify : ‘ Beware of the strike, the riot, the mob ! ’ Crush 
the mob ? But who in America shall dare to crush the 
mob } Who shall assay to stay the surging torrents, 
when the long pent-up and overswollen reservoirs of 
popular wrath shall have burst their dams ? And this 
sweeping away of conventionalisms may not be afar off. 
T/ie blood spilled where Warren fell still swells the 
veins of America! s industrial millions. 

The handwriting has been graven on the wall. He 
who runs may read. My brethren, there will verily come 
a time for reckoning. If not here, which seemeth sure, 
then in the hereafter. If the Lord of Justice and Com- 


1 8 GRAVEN ON THE TABLES. 

passion see it not meet to punish the oppressor of the 
poor by agencies on the earth, then must the man 
of many talents give a strict accounting at the Bar 
of Judgment. My brethen, I exhort you, yield unto 
the poor full justice ; then give unto them from the 
heaped up stores you have garnered with their assist- 
ance. Think not to appease a generous God and ease 
a gnawing conscience by noble bequests to charity and 
the church in your wills. That immortal Englishman, 
Sir Francis Bacon, wrote nearly three hundred years 
ago : * Defer not charities till death ; for certainly, if a 
man weigh it rightly, he that doth so is rather liberal 
of another man’s than of his own.’ 

‘‘To-morrow we shall hail with ringing of bells and 
merry-making and great joy the anniversary of our 
Saviour’s birth. ‘Peace on earth, good will to men,’ 
shall be our dominating impulse. Then, let us go forth 
and seek out our less fortunate brother, and render him 
justice, and offer him good cheer, and bid him be joyful 
with us. King Solomon saith : 

“ ‘ The rich and the poor shall meet together ; the Lord is the 
maker of them all.’ 

“ We are of one blood. Then, let us to-morrow bring 
it so to pass that, in the days to come, the poor among 
us shall join with the poet in singing : 

“ ‘ Then pealed the bells more loud and deep ; 

God is not dead ; nor doth he sleep ! 

The Wrong shall fail, 

The Right prevail, 

With peace on earth, good will to men.’ ” 


GRAVEN ON THE TABLES. 


19 


Well up toward the altar, close beneath the preacher’s 
pleading voice and earnest eyes, sat Marcus Hadley and 
his daughter Gabrielle. But if the minister’s words awoke 
more than ordinary emotions in the stocky foundryman’s 
breast, his immobile face did not betray him. His 
daughter, however, was weeping softly when her pastor 
ceased speaking. From her early girlhood she had 
been a sympathetic and helpful friend to the poor 
of Hadleyton. While her father had utilised their 
brawn and brain to increase his thousands, she had 
studied their conditions and needs and had planned 
and worked for their relief. In this she had earnestly 
tried to enlist the cooperation of her matter-of-fact 
father, but had met sorry success. 

“ Such things are well enough for women,” he once 
said ; but for men, — well, they have their business 
to attend. If you choose to spend much of your time 
and pin-money in that way, I have no objections ; but I 
can’t be expected to spare valuable time, to say nothing 
of throwing money around where it will foster both 
idleness and consequent improvidence.” 

So Gabrielle had done what she could without his 
assistance, grieving at his indifference. 

That Sabbath afternoon, while Gabrielle was walking 
home from Sunday school, in which she was, as it were, 
the patron saint, a little daughter of one of the mill 
hands came up to her and sorrowfully said : 

Miss Gabrielle, Tillie Hardicorn’s mother died this 
morning ; and that’s why Tillie wasn’t at Sunday school.” 


20 


GRAVEN ON THE TABLES. 


That is very sad news, ” responded Gabrielle. ‘‘ I 
shall go over there at once.” 

When Gabrielle knocked at the door of John Hardi- 
corn’s humble home, she was admitted by little Tillie, 
sobbing as if her heart would burst. Hardicorn sat by 
the bed where lay his dead wife, and gazed vacantly 
at the thin white face. Like a man of stone he sat, 
taking no notice of the visitor’s entrance. None of 
the neighbours had yet come in ; and the only other 
occupants of the room, Tillie’s two little brothers, 
crouched in a corner, awe and fear mingled on their 
faces. They were too young to realise the full import 
of that mysterious event which had brought so much 
sorrow to their sister, and had made their father so 
queer and still. In a childish, undefined sense they 
felt their mother had gone away — somewhere, but 
they could not yet understand she would never come 
again. 

‘‘Father is so strange,” Tillie said, between her 
sobs. “He hasn’t said a word since mother died — 
just sat there and held her hand. And he stares so.” 

Gabrielle quietly approached the sorrow-stricken hus- 
band and gently touched him on the shoulder. Hardi- 
corn slowly turned in his chair, and for a full minute 
gazed stolidly up into the young woman’s sympathetic 
face. Suddenly he awoke from his seeming half- 
catalepsy. 

“ Mark Hadley’s daughter here ! ” he exclaimed. 
“ Go ! Leave my house ! Did he send one of his 
tribe here to mock me — in the presence of my dead ? ” 


GRAVEN ON THE TABLES. 


21 


‘‘You misunderstand/’ soothingly answered Gabrielle. 
“ I was her friend, and I come as your friend — ” 

“ My friend ? Mark Hadley’s daughter my friend ! 
Why, girl, he has robbed me and mine of bread ! His 
avarice killed my babe and the mother of my children.” 

“ Pray do not say that, sir,” pleaded Gabrielle. 

“ I do say it ! And I say it again ! ” savagely reiter- 
ated the iron-worker. “It’s all his doings. My baby 
died because we didn’t have a doctor and medicine in 
time. The poor must wait for these things till sure 
they’re needed. Then, often, it’s too late. This, and 
worry, and hard work, and need of right food has killed 
my wife, too. Why didn’t they have these things, and 
in time ? I was always willing to work, and did work 
when they’d let me. Why didn’t my baby and its 
mother have these things ? Ask Mark Hadley. And 
yet he’s not satisfied. He comes now and casts me out 
at the beginning of winter — robs my motherless 
children of bread, of fire, of shelter. God help me and 
them ! And may God have mercy on Mark Hadley’s 
soul ! ” 

“ Do not say such cruel things to me about my 
father,” again pleaded Gabrielle, her face white with 
horror at Hardicorn’s vehement denunciation. “ If he 
has seemed to have wronged you, remember I am your 
friend. I have always been the friend of your children 
and of your wife, now lying there dead. I am blame- 
less of injustice you may impute to him. If you have 
suffered because of his seeming indifference, let me 
make some amends.” 


22 


GRAVEN ON THE TABLES. 


No, girl ! But I don’t blame you, however. Still, 
I can’t accept favours from you. Go home, and tell 
your father what I say.” 

With a face ashen pale, Gabrielle hurried from the 
presence of death, and sorrow, and hate, to her luxuri- 
ous home. She had no mother to cheer her, having 
been robbed by death of maternal solace early in her 
girlhood. So she sought the privacy of her bed- 
chamber and confided in her Heavenly Father. She 
prayed long and earnestly that God would soften the 
heart of her father toward those unfortunates who, 
under the orders posted by Foreman Hill, would that 
night be deprived of employment. 

Until far in the night that Christmas eve Marcus 
Hadley tossed on his bed and could not sleep. When 
he lay down the words of the preacher rang in his ears. 
He listened to the soughing of the cold December 
winds outside and to the pitiless rattle of the sleet 
against the pane. He reviewed his hard life in boy- 
hood. He recalled the privations and unremitted toil 
and frugality in his early manhood. He remembered 
when fortune first began to smile and the foundation 
for his present wealth was laid. Then his mind 
travelled up the succeeding years, during which his 
business had steadily grown, till he had become a rich 
man. Then the preacher’s words again echoed in his 
ears. Had he been eating his bread in the sweat of 
another man’s brow.? He recalled that for twenty 
years he had paid his men what most employers con- 


L.ofC. 


GRAVEN ON THE TABLES. 


23 


sidered fair wages, and they had seemed satisfied. Their 
handiwork had come to command a premium in the 
iron and steel markets; and he boasted that this was 
due as much to their loyalty to him as to his careful 
selection of them. However, hard times had come, 
demand had temporarily almost ceased, money had 
appreciated, prices had fallen ; and, like many other 
large concerns in his line, he had felt justified in re- 
ducing wages. But had he deen justified.? he asked 
himself. Were the preacher’s words applicable to him ? 
Could the pleading of this man of God have been actu- 
ated by mere emotion, pity at sight of sickness and 
want, or could he have been impelled to speak thus by a 
sense of right and justice as between man and his fellows ? 

At length, through sheer fatigue of tossing and 
worry, the iron magnate fell asleep — a troublous 
dreamful sleep. 

Marcus Hadley died. Resurrection Day came. 
With the reincarnate hosts he rose from his earthy 
bed, beneath an imposing shaft in the aristocratic 
cemetery, and winged his way to the outer plains 
before the gate to the Celestial Land. There he 
awaited final judgment for the deeds done in the body. 
In the midst of the plain, on a great white throne, 
refulgent with strange light, which could not be looked 
upon without momentary blindness, sat the Supreme 
Judge of all the earth. On the right of the throne 
stood an angel of great stature and majesty, holding in 
his two hands, high uplifted before the people, two 


24 


GRAVEN ON THE TABLES. 


tables of stone, like unto those given to Moses on 
Mount Sinai. And the angel cried with a loud voice : 

Behold ! Behold ! Behold ! O ye peoples of all 
the earth ! Read ye the words writ on the tables ! By 
them ye shall be judged ! For they have been the law 
of righteousness from the beginning ! Every man’s 
conscience shall be quickened ! Ye who look, read and 
understand shall each be unto himself his own judge! 
They that be innocent shall pass beyond the Throne 
and enter through the narrow gate to the Kingdom of 
Righteousness I They that perceive themselves as 
guilty shall pass back into Outer Darkness ! Behold ! 
Behold I Behold I O ye peoples of all the earth ! ” 

And Marcus Hadley lifted up his eyes and looked. 
And he saw but these words, graved in deep letters on 
the tables : 

BUT HE THAT MAKETH HASTE TO BE RICH 
SHALL NOT BE INNOCENT. 

In shame, he covered his face with his hands and, 
with bowed head, slunk from the presence of the Great 
White Light. Suddenly the solid earth of the plain 
was no longer beneath his feet ; and, with a shriek of 
remorse and despair, he plunged downward into a 
boiling, seething, smothering Gulf of Night. Down — ^ 
down — down — 

The iron-master awoke with a gasp and a start and a 
sense of having fallen from a great height. Clammy 
moisture stood on his forehead. 


GRAVEN ON THE TABLES. 


25 

Ugh ! What a frightful dream ! ” he said, half 
aloud. 

Then he lay still and thought for fully ten minutes. 
After this mental exercise, with the air of having 
arrived at a decision on some perplexing question, he 
quietly slipped out of bed, struck a match, looked at his 
watch, and, with a breath of relief, murmured : 

‘‘Not yet two o’clock — there’s still time.” 

He hastily put on his clothing and great-coat, and 
hurriedly left the house. Outside the chill air was still 
thick with falling sleet, which rattled dismally against 
the bare tree boughs, the shrubbery and the frozen earth. 
Looking toward the foundry, Hadley, however, could 
see the dim glow of the furnace fires. They were still 
in blast. Quickly making his way to the office, he 
arrived at the moment Foreman Hill was coming out to 
issue final instructions for closing down the plant. 

“Don’t draw the fires. Hill,” Hadley said, quietly. 
“ Keep enough men from this shift to hold the furnaces 
in blast, till further orders. When you pay off in the 
morning tell all hands to meet me at half-past ten 
o’clock, in the big casting-shed. I want to talk to 
them.” Then the iron magnate walked home, returned 
to bed, and slept soundly till far in the morning. 

The foreman was puzzled by his latest instructions ; 
but, by long association with Marcus Hadley, he had 
learned to ask no questions when his employer issued 
contradictory orders. The message was delivered to 
the men, and they were as much perplexed as Hill. 
However, well in advance of the time named, they were 


26 


GRAVEN ON THE TABLES. 


gathered beneath the great shed, waiting, in a hopeless, 
though still defiant mood. 

Promptly on time, Marcus Hadley, carrying a small, 
though apparently well-filled leathern satchel, and ac- 
companied by Foreman Hill, made his appearance. 
Mounting the platform of one of the broad weighing 
scales, he set the satchel on a box at his left, and 
addressed the men thus : 

Boys, on second thought, weVe decided not to shut 
down. We’re going to keep right on running. And 
what’s better, we’re going back to the old wage scale. 
Right now, beginning with to-day. Now, I want all of 
you to go right along, in your old places, just as though 
no hitch between us had occurred. And now, in 
remembrance of auld lang syne, and as a pledge of 
renewed friendship and good faith between me and 
you, I want every man of you to step up here and 
shake hands with me. We’ll hold a little Christmas 
Day reception, as it were.’" 

Hadley moved to the edge of the scales platform and 
stretched out his right hand invitingly. 

But the men were not quick to respond. They held 
back. For the sullen anger and distrust engendered 
by their employer’s late course were not yet quite 
dissipated. A murmur of approval and some faint 
applause had followed the announcement of continued 
work at better wages, instead of a lock-out ; but these 
brawny muscle-proud men found it hard to forgive and 
forget on such short notice. 

At length, having awaited the hesitation of the men 


GRAVEN ON THE TABLES. 2 / 

till the situation was growing embarrassing, Hadley 
turned to the foreman, and said : 

‘‘ Call the pay-roll, Hill.” 

“Anderson, Timothy H.,” read the foreman, from 
the roll-book he had brought under his arm. 

Timothy was one of the old hands and had been very 
conservative throughout the late troubles ; but, to stand 
well with his work-mates, he, like many others, had held 
aloof from a too hasty reconciliation with the mill-owner 
for that reason. 

“Anderson, Timothy H.,” again called the sonorous 
voice of the foreman. 

Timothy started, as if just awakened from a doze in 
church, and then, more from years of habit on pay-day 
than other impulse, the big machinist strode forward. 
As he neared the platform Hadley reached out his 
right hand and grasped Timothy’s left. Then, after 
a quick dive with his disengaged hand into the leathern 
satchel, he clapped a bright ten-dollar gold piece into 
the open palm of the surprised workman, exclaiming : 

“ There, Timothy, take that home to your wife and 
children, and tell ’em yoii still have a job, and that this 
is Marcus Hadley’s Christmas present.” 

He released Timothy’s hand ; and, holding aloft 
another inviting gold piece, shouted : 

“Now, come on, boys! There’s a shiner here for 
every man of you. Call the roll. Hill.” 

“ Arkins, Thomas,” announced the foreman. 

Timothy Anderson had broken the ice. Arkins at 
once stepped forward and got his hand-shake and 


28 


GRAVEN ON THE TABLES. 


yellow eagle. The other men followed in prompt suc- 
cession, each of the strike advocates departing home- 
ward, or to his work in the foundry, with a suggestion 
of shame in his heart that he had ever thought and 
said hard things against Marcus Hadley. 

‘‘Hardicorn, John,” called Foreman Hill, as he read 
down the list. 

‘‘ Hardicorn’s not here,” somebody in the crowd 
answered. ‘‘His wife died yesterday.” 

“ His wife died,” repeated Hadley. “ My daughter 
must look into that at once. However, here, you, 
Harrison, — take this to Hardicorn, as you go home. 
Here’s two tens for him — double allowance, boys, you 
know ; because there’s death in the family.” 

The roll was called through without further break ; 
and three hundred and ninety-nine of Marcus Hadley’s 
workmen went home or back to their posts in the mills 
feeling they had somehow misunderstood and uninten- 
tionally wronged a really good man. 

And there was joy that day in the homes of the poor 
of Hadleyton, and such a merry Christmas had never 
before been known. 


ATTENTION ! 

Every employee of the foundry, mills, and machine shops is 
requested to be present at a meeting to be held in the big casting- 
shed at half -past ten o’clock, Monday morning, January i, New 
Year’s Day. 

Mr. Hadley wishes to address the men on a matter of some 
importance to them. 


GRAVEN ON THE TABLES. 


29 


No excuse for absence from this meeting, except sickness or 
death in the family, will be accepted. 

Harmon Hill, 
Foreman. 

Copies of this notice were posted in conspicuous 
places about the foundry plant the day following 
Christmas. 

wonder what we’re in for now?” queried Timothy 
Anderson to a work-mate, as they stood reading the 
poster. “I hope the ‘old man’ hasn’t changed his 
mind again.” 

“ The thing’s to wait and see,” resignedly responded 
the other, with a tone of ill-concealed anxiety. 

And there was repressed apprehension throughout 
the entire plant. Some of the men sought explanation 
from the sub-foremen, and they, in turn, from the fore- 
man-in-chief. But the foreman-in-chief was as much at 
sea as the men. 

However, the momentous Monday (New Year’s Day) 
came. The men early gathered under the big shed, 
anxious to have the thing over with, whatever it should 
prove to be. 

On this occasion Hadley mounted the improvised 
rostrum used the previous Monday, with a roll of 
papers under his arm. Having called the men to 
order, without preface, he announced : 

“Boys, I’ve decided to take you — one and all — 
into this firm. The business is getting so big that one 
head and one pair of hands can’t run it. I need advice 
and other assistance from men of thorough practice — 


30 


GRAVEN ON THE TABLES. 


as nearly all of you are. So I’ve made the Hadleyton 
Iron and Steel Works a stock concern. I’ve cut the 
stock up into ten thousand shares of ^loo each. Now, 
to-day, I’m going to give each of you a certificate for 
one share — and I want every man in this plant to 
hereafter feel he’s a part of the firm, and plan and work 
to save time and material and make this foundry the 
most prosperous in America. And when next New 
Year’s Day arrives, if we’re all alive, we’ll meet here 
and vote ourselves a fat dividend out of the profits, as a 
New Year’s gift. And then I’ll issue to each of you, 
who have been with us a year or more, another share. 
And we’ll do the same the following year — and so on, 
and so on. So that, at the end of twenty-five years, 
you boys’ll own the whole concern, and I’ll be retired 
on the interest of my money. But don’t any of you 
think I’m too generous in thus turning the business 
over to you. Twenty-five years is a long while, boys ; 
and it’ll be some time before you can lock me out 
entirely. Besides, I’ll always have plenty to ‘ keep the 
wolf from the door.’ Now, as Foreman Hill calls the 
roll, I want each man to step up here and get his cer- 
tificate of partnership in this company. And may God 
bless and prosper the new corporation.” 

Every man of the four hundred (John Hardicorn 
among them) left the shed that day carrying a beauti- 
fully printed parchment bearing a dollar mark, a figure 
I and two naughts in large golden type across its face. 
If each man felt an inch taller, who could blame him ? 
He could sell that certificate any day for over ^loo; 


GRAVEJV ON THE TABLES. 


31 

and, furthermore, wasn’t he now in business for himself 

his own employer, as it were ? 

At the Hadleyton Iron and Steel Works the roar 
and hiss and splutter of the big furnaces continued 
unabated, day and night ; the ponderous machinery in 
the rolling mills rumbled and grumbled ; the hammers 
and anvils in the machine-shops rang in cheerful chorus ; 
the men whistled merrily on their way to and from their 
work ; their good wives sang snatches of familiar song 
as they set in order the cosy homes, and the neatly 
clad, well-fed children, on their way to and from 
school, shouted and laughed for very lightness of 
heart. 

Good times came to Hadleyton and the country at 
large ; and Marcus Hadley and his four hundred 
partners in business prospered as never before. 

Over at the Hardicorn home the bare, ill-furnished, 
narrow kitchen gave place to a comfortable cottage, 
with a spacious grassy lawn in front and a generous 
productive garden in the rear. Little Tillie grew to 
young womanhood, and so well assumed the duties of 
the home that her father and the boys, in a measure, 
ceased to miss the kindly care of the dead mother’s 
hands. John Hardicorn himself was in time appointed 
a foreman at twice the wages he had formerly received ; 
and the boys, as they grew strong enough, were given 
work in the foundry under their father. So that, with 
the doubled earnings of the father and his annual in- 
crease in both dividends and stock in the cooperative 


32 


GRAVEN ON THE TABLES. 


corporation, added to the wages of the boys, there was 
plenty and to spare. 

The prosperity and cheer in the Hardicorn home had 
their counterpart in the abode of every employee in the 
great iron and steel plant, and all came to have an 
abiding honour and respect for Marcus Hadley. 

But to this hour the men have not ceased to wonder 
why the works were not shut down on that Christmas 
Day, ten years ago, as was ordered. 

For the habitually taciturn iron-master has never said 
aught to any man concerning the great white tables of 
stone with these words graven thereon : 

BUT HE THAT MAKETH HASTE TO BE RICH 
SHALL NOT BE INNOCENT. 


THE END. 




• - 6 1900 



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